Thought I Knew You by Kate Moretti Page B

somehow. I had energy, and I looked somewhat presentable. I went back to the mall and put a little more on my credit cards. I found the presence of mind to stop at Pet Center on the way home. Walking the aisles, looking for the perfect gift, I found it in the shape of a rubber, hollowed-out bone, an indestructible chew toy that could be filled with peanut butter. Buying Cody a gift had a fruitless feel to it, a deep-seated hopelessness that threatened to sap my previous energy. When I got home, I wrapped the toy in red foil paper and stuck it in Cody’s stocking, feeling with relative certainty that he wouldn’t ever get to enjoy it. Inexplicably, I never thought to shop for Greg.
    I had Mom and Dad over for dinner one night so they could spend some time with Drew. Dad and Drew talked about football; Mom and I talked about other family members or the girls. We were a pseudo-family. Tonight, the role of Husband will be played by an understudy. We apologize for the inconvenience.
    Having Drew stay with us felt peculiar and right, if such a combination existed. After the girls went to bed in the evenings, Drew and I talked, drank wine or beer, and laughed. The conversation always eventually worked its way back to Greg. We’d bounce ideas off of each other, a macabre version of Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego. Drew came up with a theory that Greg had witnessed a crime and was in the witness protection program. I favored a Cayman Islands scenario. Had I been talking to anyone else, I wouldn’t have been able to be so flippant. Somehow, anger and resolve had paved the way for other, more rational thought. An emotional Zamboni, I felt tenuously normal. We had no more near-intimate moments; Drew was simply there, my rock and much needed comic relief.
    Christmas Eve dawned gray with heavy clouds drooping to the ground in a soupy fog. Although the temperature was low enough to hold out hope for a white Christmas, the easy feeling of the week slipped away, sadness edging its way back in. It was Christmas, for God’s sake; the girls needed their father, not a stand-in.
    I banished the thought and bustled around the kitchen, preparing ham, potatoes, corn, and a green bean casserole—all the fixings of a proper Christmas dinner. While the girls napped, I wrapped presents in my room. Drew had gone out, destination unknown. I was just putting away the wrapping paper and scissors when I heard the door to the bedroom inch open, and there stood Hannah, small and uncertain, afternoon sleep still in her eyes, linen lines creased her face.
    “I miss Daddy,” she said.
    I opened my arms and folded her head into my shoulder. “Oh, sweetheart, I miss him too,” I said, blinking back tears. “Do you want to tell me about it?”
    She shook her head.
    I thought if I could get her to talk, it might help. “What do you miss the most, Hannah?”
    She thought about it for a while. “The way he would chase me, and also his potatoes.”
    “Oh, I really miss his potatoes!” I exclaimed. Greg thoroughly believed that every meal needed potatoes, and he had a hundred ways to make them.
    “What else do you miss?” she asked.
    “Remember when he taught you how to hit a wiffle ball?” She nodded, her eyes misted with tears. “Or how about when he would carry you around on his shoulders and you’d have to duck through all the doorways?”
    “He’d call me, like I was lost!”
    We both laughed then. I hugged her to me. “Hannah, you have to believe me that your daddy loves you, no matter where he is or what he’s doing.”
    “Is he in Heaven?”
    I was taken aback. “What do you know about Heaven?” I asked casually. Heaven wasn’t a new concept—we’d gone to church—but I had no idea what she’d gleaned from her mornings at Sunday School. She was four.
    “Annie said her grandpa went to Heaven and she doesn’t get to see him anymore, but she knows that he can see her. And she said that maybe my daddy was there, too.” She